A Woman Waits for Me
by Kale12
Summary: Just a series of phone conversations between Jim and Pam during their summer apart after Season 4. Enjoy!
1. So I Would Choose to Be With You

"Jim, I think I'm going to throw up."

"No, no Beesly, don't do that, okay? I'm pretty sure you don't make friends on the first day by vomiting on people's shoes."

"Jim, I'm serious. I'm just really, really nervous and I'm looking around at everyone and they're so young and together and I don't think I'm supposed to be here," she wailed into the phone.

Jim leaned back in the driver's seat of his car, running his fingers through his hair and wondering if he should keep trying to make her laugh anyway or if it would just make matters worse. He could picture her pretty clearly, biting her lip and fidgeting amidst a crowd of new faces.

They had gone up together the week before to get her settled in and to check out the campus for the first time. Jim wanted to be able see where she'd be. Maybe if he could be familiar with her surroundings, she wouldn't feel so far away. It worked, a little, but after months of being able to touch her whenever he liked (which was always), her not being there made him feel restless and unsettled. He couldn't sit still, couldn't concentrate, and his fingers kept twisting around soft curls that weren't there, or around a small, velvet box that was starting to look a little worse for the wear.

"Aw, c'mon, Pam. You and I both know that isn't true. Where's Fancy New Beesly when you need her?"

Pam let out a short "Hah," and sighed before continuing. "Screw her. She's the one that got me into this in the first place. All I want to do is to come home and have little Halpert babies. Let's buy a farm. Maybe I should learn to knit?"

Jim swallowed audibly, eyes wide as he tried to figure out how to respond.

"Uh, Jim? You there, sweetie? We don't have to buy a farm if –"

"Do you mean it? I mean, seriously?" He felt like an idiot as soon as the words left his mouth. For a second there was silence, and he was suddenly seized by a fit of frustration and anger at his utter stupidity. What had possessed him to push her like that? When had he turned into Kelly?

He smacked his palm against his forehead, wishing to God he knew why the connection between his brain and his mouth seemed to functioning so badly. He shifted the phone to his other ear and opened his mouth to attempt some sort of damage control when he realized she was laughing softly. She sounded…happy. Content. There was no trace of the anxiety that had been wringing her voice earlier, and Jim could feel the muscles in the back of his neck relax slowly.

"That's what I want, Jim. That's all I really want. Though I have to say," she went on, unable to resist teasing him, "I thought I'd made it pretty clear most nights. Obviously I'm going to have to get you up to speed when you come to visit."

They both laughed at that, and Jim had a sudden sense of her being right there with him despite miles and miles of highways and traffic and people.

"But hey, I'd better go sit down. I don't want to stumble in tardy on my first day. I'd probably end up sitting next to Dwight's third cousin or something."

"You dork."

"You know it! I'll call you after it's over, okay? I love you."

"You too."

As he took the elevator back to the office, Jim had a feeling he'd be visiting a lot sooner than he'd originally planned. He wasn't sure he could wait any longer.


	2. I Will Share this Room with You

" – and so then he climbed on top of my desk and – oh crap!"

"Jim? Jim, what's wrong?" Pam could hear heavy footsteps moving quickly, followed by what sounded like a very frustrated groan. She pressed the phone closer to her ear and let her pencil dangle loosely in the air. There were some clanging noises, the faint sound of water running, and a steady stream of mumblings that she couldn't quite make out but was pretty sure wasn't meant for more delicate ears.

Pam sighed and looked back down at the half filled sketchpad. The professor had simply said, "Draw a home," and normally she loved that sort of open-ended assignment. It was a chance to be creative, and try to think out of the box a little.

New York was a good place for that. Years of living in Scranton hadn't exactly prepared her for the smog of noise and color, or for clicking heels and jostling elbows and being alone and capable. Of course she missed Jim, missed him like crazy till sometimes she had to run out of her tiny apartment and just wander aimlessly to distract herself. But another part of her enjoyed the absolute freedom of a crowded city. She did what she wanted to, when she wanted to, unsheltered and (mostly) unworried. For the first time, Pam really did feel as though she was living like an adult. She'd gone from the safety of her parents' home to the safety of Roy's, and finally she was getting to finish what had started all those months ago when she called off the wedding – growing up. Which seemed to make this assignment even harder.

Home wasn't her parents' house anymore, comforting as it was, and it certainly wasn't with Roy. Her apartment in Scranton seemed like the logical choice, but after countless sketches, somehow it simply didn't feel right. The little apartment was a place of transition, and she loved it – it was where she learned to be independent, where she learned to love Jim – but it had never felt permanent to her. Especially not lately, with the growing surety that the two of them would be making their own home together before long. Finally, she decided to stop thinking too hard about it, and just began to draw. So far it was just a single room with some scattered furniture, but it felt like it was headed somewhere.

"I burned the Hamburger Helper." Jim's voice startled her. He sounded like a petulant little kid, and Pam couldn't help but crack up.

"Oh my God, Halpert," she said between laughs, "I didn't even know that was possible. What were you, cooking it on a Foreman?" It felt good to be sitting there on the scratchy carpet, laughing and listening to Jim. She sketched in a doorway to a kitchen, and bit her lip, grinning, as she shaded in a light trail of smoke.

"Wow. Thanks, Beesly. I'll have you know I used to be a Hamburger Helper gourmet."

"Sure, Jim, you keep telling yourself that. Seriously, how did you keep from starving all these years?" She drew books and CDs on a coffee table, and an iPod with headphones twisted across a sketchpad.

"I'm telling you Pam, I was a pretty good cook before we started dating. It's not my fault you're so damn distracting." He was back to happy, teasing Jim again, and she wishes she could reach out and comb her fingers through his hair. Instead she drew shoes in a corner, small black flip-flops and huge, grungy, untied sneakers.

"Yeah, I bet you made a pretty mean Easy Mac."

"That's just cold, Pam. I don't think you understand that microwaving is an art." He never has been very good at hiding his laughter, and the rumble of it sets off little sunbursts in her stomach. "Besides, you gotta make a choice, Beesly. It's either my cooking skills or my loving skills."

"Ooh, loving skills, absolutely."

"See, this works out perfectly. You take care of the cooking, and I'll take care of the loving. Win-win-win."

Pam giggled as she switched to the speakerphone, stretching out onto her stomach and curling her toes.

"So you find me…distracting?" she asked slyly, pitching her voice low and letting the words roll off her tongue. She drew half-full mugs of coffee and a candy dish.

His reply was immediate. "So distracting. Like you wouldn't believe."

"Try me."

"Um…wow. Okay, well, like just now, we were talking, and I was watching the stove, but then I started thinking about how happy you sounded, and that made me think about how I can tell from your voice exactly how you're feeling, and how I love the way you laugh and how you sound when we wake up in the morning –"

"Oh, Jim –"

" – and then I start thinking about why you sound the way you do when you wake up, and it's usually because of the night before, and once I start thinking about that I'm pretty much done for." He paused and took a deep breath. "And that's why I burned the Hamburger Helper."

Pam couldn't decide whether she wanted to laugh or cry. "I really, really, really want to kiss you right now." She drew a striped polo draped over the arm of the couch, and a soft sweater crumpled on the seat next to it.

"Arrgh, Beesly, I swear you are going to break me. My dinner is ruined and my girlfriend is a tease. I am so not buying you a farm anymore."

"I love you."

"I know," Jim groaned. "That's what makes this so hard!"

"That's what she said!" Pam cried out gleefully.

"Oh my God, I'm over here pouring my pathetic little heart out and you're channeling _Michael_?? I'm not sure how much of this I can take."

"Did I mention I love you?" she asked sweetly, fixing the shading on the bookshelf and smoothing out the heavy paper.

"Not helping. I want you home. Now."

She heard him laugh ruefully, tried to picture the wry expression on his face. She let herself imagine leaning against him and wrapping her arms around his waist as he held her close. Imagined him pressing his lips to the top of her head as she traced her name on his skin with her fingers, claiming each other for good. She looked down at her drawing, so simple and natural and yet so full of their life together. Home seemed like a good place to be.

"Soon. I'll be home really, really soon."


	3. And This is Why My Eyes Are Closed

Jim settled back on his bed, shoulders against the wall and hair still wet from the shower. It had been a good pick-up game, intense enough to keep his mind off work, but relaxing all the same. He'd been getting made fun of by the guys for spending so much time with his girlfriend, though he'd be willing to bet they were relieved not to have to deal with his wound-up, pre-Pam self. Now, after a hot shower, his muscles ached pleasantly and his body felt loose, but his brain was beginning to ratchet back up to a buzz of activity.

He picked up his cell phone, and as much as he craved the sound of her voice, he wanted to clear his thoughts before he talked to her. Today had been…interesting, and it had led to all sorts of equally interesting thought processes that he hadn't really known what to do with. He finally speed-dialed '1' ('Voicemail' had long been demoted to '2' and replaced with 'Beesly') and waited for Pam to pick up.

"Jim?"

"Hey, pretty girl. What are you up to?" He inadvertently looked over at the right side of the bed. Even with her gone he always took the left. It was Pam who insisted on having the right side. She simply could not fall asleep if their positions were reversed, and Jim had to make a heroic effort to keep from asking what side she slept on when she was with Roy. He had a feeling he didn't really want to know the answer.

They'd tried switching a few times, after he'd teased her mercilessly about it, but after a night of her tossing and turning and wriggling, Jim figured out that it was in his best interests to let her sleep wherever she wanted. Not that he minded. He could probably get a good night's rest in chair as long as he had her soft and warm in his arms.

"Just a couple assignments and stuff. You know. Keeping busy." She sounded distant, distracted, and Jim could tell instantly that she was upset about something.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" He tried to keep his tone neutral, but it still came out slightly strained.

"No, nothing! I'm fine, just a little tired, you know?" Now _she_ sounded a little alarmed. Jim sighed. Maybe it was all those years with Roy, or maybe it was the way she'd always been, but Jim had been trying hard over the past year to break her habit of trying to hide what she felt. She'd gotten tremendously better at expressing herself and standing up for what she wanted, but there were times when he still had to gauge her moods carefully and watch for tiny details to try and figure out what was going on in her head. It drove him crazy that she tended to go silent during fights, and that there were times she still hesitated to confide in him when she was upset, as though he'd be disappointed in her.

"Hey," he said softly. "We talked about this. It's me, remember? I don't care if you whine or complain or whatever. Just…just let me in, okay?" He pressed his ear to the phone, waiting for her to reply.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, it's stupid. I've just had a really bad day. It was, ugh, I don't know, nothing seemed to go right at all. One of my art professors totally hated one of my sketches, and I'd spent so long on it, and then I found I'm not going to be able to go this art show I really wanted to check out because I have a test the day after, and the water heater's broken, and I got salsa on my favorite white shirt and now I'm trying to redo the drawing that he hated and I have been trying for hours and I just can't get it right!" She sniffed a little at the end, and he listened to her deep, shaky breathing awhile before answering.

"See what I mean, Beesly? You can't keep that all pent up inside of you. Sounds like you've had a pretty rough day. Do you want me to come beat up your teacher?"

She laughed a little at that, more anxious release than a real laugh, but Jim would take what he could get. "I'm not sure that would make him like my artwork any better, but you're right, I feel better just telling you about it. God Jim, I just really cannot wait till this weekend. I'll be so glad when I can just hold you tight and not have to think about anything else. I've just been missing you so badly, lately."

Jim thought he could physically feel his heart sinking into his stomach. He'd been dreading this moment all day and now he knew it was going to be even worse than what he had imagined. "Um yeah, I kinda needed to talk to you about that." He took a deep breath to steady his voice, trying to figure out the best way to break the news. "We had a meeting with Wallace at work today, and there's this conference in Philly this weekend that he invited me to attend, and God knows I've been looking forward spending some together, but with Ryan gone, this could be a really good opportunity and I swear I'll make it up to you, I promise." He stopped and held his breath, straining to hear her response. "Pam? Pam say something, please?" He heard her inhale sharply.

"Um…," she finally said, voice quiet and quavering. "Can you giv-" she had barely squeaked it out when he suddenly heard the dial tone. Frantically he redialed, and then again, but it went to her voicemail each time.

This couldn't possibly be good. He should have just told Wallace no, should have made his excuses, but as much as it was killing him not to see her, there was a part of him that recognized a chance, an opening, and he felt the need to grab it. He wanted so much for her. He wanted to marry her and lock her away safe in a huge house where she could paint or draw or do nothing at all, whatever she wanted. He wanted to show her that he was making something of himself, that he was following her example and leaving behind years of wasted potential and maybes. He was shaken out of his reverie by the phone vibrating in his hand. He scrambled to flip it open, cursing his sweaty palms.

"Pam, are you alright? What happened? Are you crying? Please don't cry. I'll tell Wallace 'no', don't worry."

"No!" she finally answered, louder and more vehemently than he'd expected. Pam seemed to have startled herself as well. When she continued her tone had softened, though she was still sniffing and hiccupping. "I mean, I'm sorry. I'm not really sure what came over me. I just…I just really wanted you with me –"

"I kn –"

"No wait, let me finish. I want to tell you that you should go to the convention this weekend. I mean, you're totally right, Wallace loves you and everything's been going so great and you should totally do this."

"Pam, I'm not so sure..."

"Don't say that. I know how hard you've been working lately. And you deserve this, Jim, you really do." Jim could hear Fancy New Beesly take charge again as she started to sound more resolute and confident. "I'm sorry I broke down like that. I think it'd kind of been building up all day, and it was about all I could take. You could have told me you'd bought Dwight's beet farm and I probably would have reacted the same way."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure that would have been an appropriate response."

"Hah. But Jim? You know I'm ridiculously proud of you, right? I mean, you're so smart, and talented, and you know that I couldn't care less if you decided you wanted to sell paper for Michael for the rest of your life, but I don't want you to look back and regret it. You can do so much more. So much more."

The taut emotion in her voice made his own throat close up, and Jim finally began to feel that it would all work out after all. "So," he replied slowly, thoughtfully. "So you're really fine with me going? Tell me the truth, okay? Because I am going to be absolutely miserable and piss Wallace off if I think you're going to be unhappy."

"Don't be silly," she chided gently. "I'll keep myself busy, and as long as you swear to come the weekend after, I promise not to sit in my room and cry." Her words were steady and calm, and Jim was satisfied.

"Deal. Now how's that drawing going?"

"Ugh. Still no good. I'm beginning to understand why my teacher hated it."

"That's the spirit, Beesly."

"Shut up, Halpert."


	4. And You Can Have This Heart to Break

"Oooh, okay, I got one. J.K. Rowling or Oprah?" Pam lugged her beat-up stereo into the bathroom, putting in one of the several mix CD's Jim had made her for the summer.

"Oh my _God_, Beesly, you are insanely good at this game. Or maybe insanely bad. Tell me again why we keep playing this?"

"Because it's fun."

"And also rather creepy. Think about what you're really asking me, Pam."

"It's kind of a simple question, Jim. Who would you rather do? Now come on, decide already."

"Well, Oprah's kind of hot, and she'd probably at least buy me a car, but if I did J.K. Rowling I might be able to weasel out Harry Potter secrets."

"Quit stalling, Halpert. You're making this a lot harder than it needs to be." She smiled as she lit another candle, one of Jan's creations, surprisingly. Michael had given it to her one morning, choked up and mournful, asking her to take it because he "couldn't bear the lingering scent of their doomed love." Luckily, the scent of the candle itself was rather nice.

"That's what –"

"Don't you _dare_," she interrupted. "I've got enough reminders of Michael here as it is."

Jim was obviously confused. "Enlighten me, Beesly."

Pam lowered herself gingerly into the tub, bracing herself against the scalding water. "I'm taking a bubble bath and I lit one of Jan's candles."

"Oh," he replied, pausing. "It doesn't smell like Michael, does it?"

Pam snorted, nearly dropping the phone. "No! Ew! It smells good, actually, kind of sweet and sugary. I think it's making me a little hungry."

"I'm more than a little hungry right now, Beesly." Jim's attempt at a sexy voice was ruined by his evident struggle to keep from laughing.

"Shush, you. Besides, you never answered the question."

Jim let out an exaggerated sigh. "And here I was working so hard to distract you."

"Nice try."

"Fine, Rowling. If only because I would definitely enjoy holding Harry Potter secrets over Dwight's head."

"I know, right? It would so be worth it." She waved a hand idly through the froth of bubbles before adjusting the volume on the stereo.

"Hey, is that one of the CDs I made you?"

"See how much I love you? I listen to your music even when I don't have to," she teased.

"No, you're listening because I have awesome taste in music. And because you broke the new iPod I got you."

"Jim, that thing was so small! I totally forgot it was in my pocket when I put my jeans in the washer!"

" - and the dryer."

"Shut up. You should have known better."

"It's not my fault you're a mini walking disaster. I swear, it's like having my own tiny war zone."

"I hate you."

"Aw, don't be mad, Beesly. I'll make it up to you this weekend. Oh, and I've meaning to tell you - Wallace found out I was coming up this weekend, and he offered to take us out to lunch. Would that be okay with you?"

"Of course! Looks like you made quite an impression there, hotshot. Michael's going to be pretty upset when he finds out you're being lured away to corporate. Or maybe he'll want you to be his new Ryan."

Pam frowned as she heard him chuckle nervously. "What's wrong?" she asked, concerned.

"Well, I was going to tell you when I got there and let it be a surprise? But now I'm wondering if maybe it might be better if I just told you right now."

"Tell me!" The words came out as a half-shriek.

"Okay! So I ended up talking about you to Wallace, and how you were at Pratt, and that you were really talented –"

"Jim, what did you do?!"

"And I happened to have the Dunder-Mifflin ad with me, the one with your animation at the end, and Wallace ended up really liking it. He told me he wanted to meet you. So, um…surprise?" he finished weakly, clearly unsure of her reception.

She was stunned. "Why…" she began slowly. "Why did you even have that ad with you?"

"I'm not entirely sure," he admitted sheepishly. "Just my luck, I guess. But I don't want you freak out or anything, everything's going to be fine."

"I don't know what to say, Jim. I didn't expect this at all. Wow."

"It's a _good_ thing, Beesly."

"I know, I'm still trying to process it, I think. And Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," she said forcefully, trying to convey how touched she was at his thoughtfulness. "It means a lot to me that you'd be thinking about me at a time like that."

"I'm thinking about you nonstop, anyway. I figured we'd get something constructive out of it," he joked, brushing off her thanks.

"But aren't you jealous that Wallace will like me better?" she teased back.

"Nah. It all works out in my favor. It'll be easier for me to sleep to the top if you get promoted."

"Sounds kind of kinky, Halpert." Pam grinned, heat rising to her cheeks.

"Wouldn't have it any other way. Now is there anywhere else you want to go when I come up? Maybe catch a show or something?"

Pam smiled softly, settling in comfortably against the head of the tub. "Honestly, Jim?" she confessed, "I would really rather just stay in. I feel like it's been so long since I've been able to even touch you, you know? It feels weird."

"No argument here," he chuckled. "We can do whatever you want."

"Not to mention you probably haven't eaten a square meal since I left. I need to cook you some real food."

"I love you."

"That's just your stomach talking, mister."

"I think we both adore you equally."

"I can live with that."

For awhile neither of them said anything, and a sweet, hazy calm settled on her simply listening to Jim's even breathing on the other end of the line.

"You know, when I was in elementary school, my art teacher told us that Van Gogh cut off part of his ear and sent it to a woman he loved, who'd rejected him."

"That's…really gross, Pam. That sounds like something Dwight would do. Maybe I should tell him that story."

"Jim!"

"Sheesh, I'm just kidding."

"Whatever. Anyway, I mean, yeah, it _is_ kind of gross and all, but I found out today that it wasn't true."

"He didn't cut off his ear?"

"No, he did. But not for a woman. Turns out he was crazy at the time. But I was, I don't know, I was a little disappointed. I mean, it was part of his _ear_. That would have been a pretty serious gesture." Pam bit her lip, trying to find the words to express what she meant.

"Um, Pam? I like you a lot, but I'm not sending you a body part in the mail."

"Gah, Jim stop it. It's just, can you imagine that? Can you-" She stopped mid-sentence, and then blurted out, "Do you really not regret turning down that job for me?" She was slightly shocked to hear the words tumble out of her mouth. It was something that had been bothering her vaguely, but she hadn't quite realized till then how deeply it had rooted. She hadn't meant to bring it up at all, but the damage was done and she waited tensely for Jim to answer.

"Whoa." Jim sounded bewildered. "That kinda came out of left field, Beesly. Are you comparing the guy's ear to my turning down the job? Because I'm not really seeing the connection."

Pam struggled to explain what she meant, wishing she could rewind their conversation to back before her mouth had gotten the best of her. "I just feel bad sometimes. Like you gave up that opportunity for me. And not just that but before too, when you stayed doing the same thing for all those years. I mean, it's bad enough that I kept holding myself back, but when I think that maybe I was holding _you_ back, too, I –"

"Stop. Don't go any further. First of all, I refuse to let you take the blame for me not giving a damn about my job. And that interview…Pam, that was me trying really, really hard to be something that I thought I should be. In my entire life there has never been anything I wanted as badly as I wanted you. You were this ache, this - God, I don't know how to make you understand! I'm obsessed with you, Pam. I'm so wrapped up in you that I can't think any further than what I want for you." His voice dropped lower and lower, until he finished a little sadly, "You need to tell me what to do to make you stop questioning this, because it's killing me that I can't make you see it."

Pam let his words wash over her, let them settle into the knots in her stomach, let them stretch her and smooth her out. The bathwater had long turned tepid, and her fingertips had shriveled; they felt odd as she brushed them across her arms.

"Jim, that's not it at all, I swear. I know how much you love me, and I know that I have never, ever been so loved, or so cherished, and I've felt so safe, and that's all because of you. I just can't stand to think that in any way I might have kept you from doing something important."

"I can't think of anything more important than you. And if there's anything to regret, it's all that time I wasted trying to get over you. I messed a lot of things up." Jim's voice was like dark leather, smoky and weary and old.

She sighed and ran her fingers through her wet curls, wondering if the pain of looking back would ever cease to be so raw. "Maybe…maybe you won't agree with me, and maybe you won't even like what I'm going to say, but being together and happy with you now makes me feel like it all needed to happen. We both had so much growing up to do, and maybe we wouldn't have made it without all that stuff in between. We might not have been ready." She heard Jim exhale a long breath, and she shivered a little in the cooling water.

"I don't think…I don't think I'm ready to accept that yet. I can't just look back and drop the blame and really believe that it was all meant to be the way it was, I can't. But you're right. We're fine now, and that's all that really matters, because I have you and I can't even think to ask for anything else."

"I love you," she said at last. There didn't seem to be anything left to say. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"Let's save a couple of those for this weekend, alright? I want to hear a few of those in person." Jim still sounded husky, but Pam thought that maybe some of the cracks had been smoothed over, that the promises they made were sharpening into focus.

"Why aren't you here already? I don't think I can wait any longer."

"Patience is a virtue, Pam."

"I'm not really in a virtuous mood, Halpert. Too bad there isn't a travel-size version of you. That would come in pretty handy," she mused.

"I don't even want to know where you're headed with this, Beesly. Besides, I'm not sure you've noticed, but I'm a one of a kind, special edition Jim. A collector's item, if you will."

"Ooh, I'd collect you!"

"And keep me in a glass box in your room?"

"I don't think so, sweetie. I had you pegged for more of the 'action figure' type," she replied, aiming for nonchalance but failing miserably by giggling when he started to laugh, too.

"You're my favorite, Pam."

"Your favorite what?" she asked, grinning madly despite it all.

"My favorite." he repeated warmly, as though it explained. "My favorite everything."

She could hear the clock in the corner, each _tick-tock_ finding its way under her chill, wet skin. The candle still burned gamely, though the cloying scent of it had long since curled around the floral notes of the bubble bath to hang heavy in the tiny bathroom. The bubbles had disappeared, leaving her to contemplate her puckered knees and soft stomach as music spun slow from the stereo, putting a heart in her hands and words in her mouth.

"Yeah. Mine too."


	5. Lest the strings should break

"Pam?" He answered the phone on the first ring.

"Where'd you _go_?" she asks, and his heart twists a little because she sounds so plaintively young, sleep still clinging to the corners of her words.

"Forgot my toothbrush in Scranton. Figured I'd just head down the block and find a drugstore. I didn't want to wake you." Outside the sun hung lazy and low, the steady glow of heat a welcome change from the white-hot blaze of the afternoon. It felt good on his skin; he almost thought he could feel little rays piercing through to his bones.

"Could have left a note," she countered, only slightly mollified, and Jim found himself suddenly wishing he could run his thumb across her soft mouth.

"Don't tell me you miss me already?" he laughed.

"Not a chance," she replied back smartly, drowsiness replaced with the bright, hard snap of her banter. "Who needs another warm body in the middle of June?"

Jim sniggered, unconsciously avoiding cracks in the sidewalk as he walked further down the crowded street. The heat had left the city hushed and languid, and the blare of taxi horns and car screeches that he usually overlooked seemed to get under his skin. People tried to rush by, gabbing on their phones and never making eye contact, but everyone seemed to be moving just a little slower through the syrupy air.

"So the truth comes out at last. You only wanted me for my body."

"Duh, Jim. Plus now I'll never need to buy a ladder."

"Wow."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Do you feel used now?"

"It depends. Are you planning to stop anytime soon?"

"Nope."

"Then fine by me," he replied nonchalantly, neatly sidestepping a fire hydrant as he pressed the phone to his ear. "Use me, abuse me, whatever you like."

"Jeez, Halpert, I always figured you were a little masochistic, but I had no idea it was this bad."

Jim ducked into the drugstore, momentarily startled by the blast of air conditioning that made his clothes feel damp. The store was crowded with teenagers trying to escape the heat, and he turned to keep from colliding with a bald, suited businessman balancing an attaché and a slushie. "Seriously? The last five years didn't tip you off?"

"Ouch."

"It's okay, Beesly, I love you no matter how sadistic you are."

"Hey!" she protested weakly, but Jim went on as though he hadn't heard her.

"Listen up. I have my choice between Spiderman, Batman, or Disney Princesses."

"Huh?"

Jim sighed exaggeratedly, "My toothbrush, Pam. Try to pay attention every once in awhile, will you?"

"Which princesses?"

He held the plastic package up closer, turning it from the glare of the fluorescent lights overhead. "Um, the mermaid, the Arabian chick, and the brunette."

"Ooh, get that one."

"Good choice."

"Thanks. And could you pick up some bug spray while you're at it?"

"For the ants?"

"Yeah. I'm still not sure why there are ants in my shower."

Jim walked down the opposite aisle, scanning the canisters until he found what he wanted. He grabbed it and walked up to the counter, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket. "I bet Dwight would know." He listened to Pam laugh, nodding his thanks at the cashier and swinging the plastic bag over his shoulder.

"Maybe you should have brought him with you, then," she teased. He could hear her shuffling around, along with the faint ringing of metal and running water. He shielded his eyes as he stepped out into the sun, back into the traffic of bodies on the sidewalk.

"Be careful what you wish for, Beesly. You might find yourself with an unexpected visitor the next time I come up."

"I'm going to call that bluff, Halpert. No way you're spending two hours in a car with Dwight."

"How did I not think of that?"

"Eh," she said, noncommittally, "blame it on the heat."

Jim grinned. "Sucks for you, Pam. Looks like you'll be stuck with just me, after all."

"You know, call me crazy, but I'm thinking that might not be so bad." She seemed to taste the words as she spoke them, slow and tenuous and soft like a thread of silk, and Jim could feel his stomach clench with wanting her.

"What are you doing right now?" he asked after a small pause, trying to regain control as he kept his voice deliberately light.

"Mmm, starting dinner."

"Aw, Pam, you don't have to. We can order in, or go out, or whatever you want."

"I want to," she insisted. "I like…taking care of you, you know?" she sounded a bit hesitant, even a little shy, before reverting back to a brisk tone. "Besides, don't even try to tell me you've been eating anything but sandwiches these last couple weeks.

"And takeout. Don't forget takeout."

"See? Now what's taking you so long? I'm looking out the window and I don't see you anywhere."

Jim rounded the corner onto her street, striding a little faster towards her apartment building. "How about now? I'm the tall guy in the green shirt."

"I see you," she sang out, and he caught sight of her just as she started waving. The light fell softly on her hair, warm and honeyed and rich with color. She was wearing one of his shirts, the collar threatening to fall off her shoulder, and she seemed loose and free and happy in a way that almost terrified him. And her smile, he could probably live for years with just the memory of her sweet, easy smile floating down to him from a third-story window.

"Hey," he said softly, still looking up at her with a lazy crook of his mouth.

"Hi," she whispered back, biting her lip a little before grinning widely.

"I'm going to marry you," he said finally, because it needed to be said. He needed to bind the moment up somehow, tie it down before it fled with the last rays of the summer sun. Pam started, her eyes growing wide.

"Jim –"

"Shh. Don't say anything," he said, licking his lips as he continued. "I'm not going to ask you right now, you deserve better, but I want you to know that it's coming, I swear it is, because I can't imagine any sort of future that doesn't have you in it."

She sighed, and he watched her close her eyes for a brief moment, shoulders sagging. "Jim, I don't need anything fancy, you know that. Just ask me!" she pleaded, but Jim only shook his head and kept smiling.

"Humor me, Beesly. You'll get what's coming to you." He watched her pout and stick out her tongue.

"Now who's being a sadist?" she asked, clearly a little miffed from their exchange.

"It'll be worth it, pretty girl. Scout's honor."

"Whatever, Romeo," she said, flouncing away from the window and letting the curtains fall. "Pressure's on. Now come upstairs, already."

Jim heard her hang up, and let his arm fall to his side still clutching the phone. Shadows lengthened across the street, bringing with them a timid stillness that stole over the early evening. He looked back up the window, once, and marveled a little at the strangeness of wanting nothing more than what was already in his grasp. He was full to the brim and he walked up the stairs slowly, trying to take it all in and unwilling to spill a single drop.


	6. Chapter 6

"Yeah, I got through about half of it one summer in high school, and I kept meaning to finish, but every time I saw it on my bookshelf I'd think of a million things I'd rather do instead."

"I'm impressed, Beesly. I don't think I've ever even opened _War and Peace_." Jim rolled his shoulders, stiff like the rest of him after a good ninety minutes of driving. The air conditioning was blasting directly on his fingers - he couldn't feel them anymore - but it was still much too hot to consider turning it down. "No wait, I lied. I flipped through it once when it got in somehow with my weekly supply of _Babysitters' Club_ books."

"Oh, you mean the ones you've got hidden under your bed?"

"Damn it, you found out about those?"

"Yep, along with your Teen Vogues."

"I…don't know what to say."

"It's ok, Halpert, I always knew you were a little more in touch with your feminine side than your average guy."

Jim shook his head incredulously, knowing she couldn't see him but smiling sheepishly anyway.

"And I personally think it comes in kind of handy," she launched on, not giving him a chance to defend himself, "because you're awfully in touch with _my_ feminine side."

Jim just laughed, refusing to take the bait.

"Oh come on, Jim!" he heard her say, half-laughing and half-pleading, "You have to say it."

"Nope."

"Please?"

He sighed. "Fine. That's what she said. Are you happy now?"

"Is it bad that I am?"

"Just how did we get here from Tolstoy?" he asked over her giggling, checking his rearview mirror before adjusting the earpiece. Traffic had died considerable once he'd crossed the state line into Pennsylvania; now, closer to Scranton, only a handful of bright headlights pierced through the dark behind him.

"Face it, Jim. We're just not the intellectual types."

"Sure we are. We work for a paper company. And books are made of paper. Where would the world of academia be without us?"

"I don't think Dunder-Mifflin was around in Tolstoy's time, Jim."

"Whatever, Beesly. I bet we could trace it back." He heard a clatter, followed by faint, undecipherable swearing. "Pam?"

"Hello?"

"Still here, kiddo." Jim answered, flicking on his turn signal towards the Scranton exit. Steady clicks filled the car, an oddly comforting song against the relative silence of the road.

"Sorry about that. I dropped my phone."

"At least it's still working this time."

"Be nice. That was the first time."

"In the last hour, anyway," he scoffed. "Seriously, Beesly, you give dropped calls a whole new meaning."

"I don't even want to know how long you've been waiting to use that one."

"Two weeks."

"Weak, Halpert."

Jim tilted his head back and chuckled, wondering how it was that they still weren't bored of each other. They'd been on the phone for most of his drive back, despite Pam's repeated concerns about his driving and talking at the same time. Neither of them could quite bring themselves to hang up, though.

"I'm telling you, Pam, this domestic bliss thing is making me soft. Blunting my razor-sharp wit, if you will."

"Lower-than-projected margins of sarcasm?"

"It's been a tough quarter."

"It's not all bad news, Halpert. I happen to know that customer satisfaction is at an all-time high."

Her voice was a little throaty, and Jim was hit with a vision of her propped on her elbows against his chest, looking down at him with a teasing grin. Smiling against his mouth as she pressed her lips to their corner. Holding her loosely, arms clasped around her hips, swearing he could taste her smile.

"For a receptionist, you seem to be, uh, pretty up to date on – shit, forget it. I can't think of anything right now. Can I please just turn around?"

"No!"

"So mean."

"Where are you?"

"Just pulled up in front of my apartment, as a matter of fact." He parked the car, locked it, and grabbed his duffel bag from the passenger seat. "Remind me again why it's still _my_ apartment and not _our_ apartment?"

"Oh, you are not pinning this one on me, Jim. What kind of girl do you think I am?" she shot back, mock-indignant.

"You really want me to answer that?"

"Dork."

"Hey, now," he chided gently, fitting the key into the lock and twisting the knob hard before it swung open. "Don't jump to conclusions. I think you're a very nice girl." He felt around blindly for the lights, stepping into the stuffy living room. The quiet had coated every corner; he thought he could feel it seep under his fingernails, behind his ears. He switched the lights back off, striding quickly into the bedroom and tossing the duffel onto his unmade bed.

"A nice girl? Wow, Jim, put a couple miles between us and suddenly the romance dies."

"If you recall, my exact words were 'very nice'," he admonished her as he shrugged off his coat.

"Oh, well then. Took it to a whole new level, didn't you? Don't stop on my account, Halpert."

"You're the kind of girl a man wants to buy a farm with."

"Milk cows with?"

"Dare I say it? Grow beets with."

"I never should have doubted you."

"See what I mean? Even Dwight couldn't question my devotion to you." He grinned as he unzipped the bag, emptying the contents onto the bed. A folded paper bird spilled out with the mess of clothing, stark white against a black T-shirt. There was writing on the wings, Pam's close, haphazard cursive, and a funny little sketch of a girl waving out her window. He scooped it up, holding it to the light so that he could make out what was written.

_Get home safe! I love you! Pam_.

"Hey, you know what else?" he asked, sighing as he fell back heavy onto the mattress, heedless of the laundry underneath him.

"What?"

There were crickets outside his window, shrill and sharp and cumbersome. He wouldn't be fighting for the sink tonight, and he'd be sleeping on the left because it made it easier to pretend she'd be next to him when he woke up the next morning.

"You're the kind of girl I want to come home to."


End file.
